


Hide and Seek

by Jamie_Anya



Series: Kingdom of Hiddlesworth [2]
Category: Australian Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Bloody Mary-ish, Childhood Trauma, Chris finds it hard to believe, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Poltergeist, Tom is traumatized, a ghost that follows them home, author begs you to turn on your lights when reading, brief possession, details are mandatory, graphic depictions of blood, haunting scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:17:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Anya/pseuds/Jamie_Anya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her crooked neck, her toothy grin. Her soulless eyes, her ripped jaw. She waits, 'patiently', for the child who first saw her when summoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proud to say this chapter is beta'd by the awesome ChargerWarrior! Whoot! Whoot! Mistakes are mine~

"Tommy! Wanna play Bloody Mary?"

Little Tom raised his head to meet his sister's mischievous grin, his collection of toy cars abandoned. And purely out of sheer curiosity, he asked, "What's a Bloody Mary?"

"It's a fun game! Come on!" Sarah squealed, pulling her little brother's arm as she beckoned two of their cousins to follow them.

They ran from the backyard where their father and uncles were spending their time chatting away while barbecuing; through the kitchen, their mother and aunts were preparing dinner to celebrate grandmother's birthday as they unheeded Diana's call. It was not the time to help the adults in the kitchen, if they didn't want to be fawned over. And they silently crept past the vast sitting room where Sarah and Tom's baby sister, Emma, was being doted on by their graceful grandparents. Up the flight of stairs to the second floor bathroom, away from the adults and wide enough for four meddlesome kids. As they were all inside, Sarah quietly closed the door and turned toward her giddy cousins and anxious little brother.

"Okay, the rules are simple... First, we're gonna face the mirror, shut the lights off, then light a match," she paused to take out a familiar brand of a box of matches from her pocket; it seemed that she had stolen them from one of their uncles who smoked cigars, "And chant her name three times together! Easy, right?"

"Have you tried this before, Sarah?" said Zoe, glancing over to her little cousin and brother, Matthew. She sounded quite nervous with the fact that both Tom and Matthew were still so young to be playing, yet 'calling' unknown ghosts. 

"I did, with my friends. But nothing came out."

"What... comes out?" Tom whispered, his skin began to turn a bit paler than normal.

"Bloody Mary, duh!" Sarah sneered, proud that she had taken the interests of her cousins who stood thrilled. "They say she'll pop out of nowhere with her scary face looking at you, and yell mean things through the mirror! Then, BAM!"

"What will happen after that?" Matthew raised an eyebrow, then curved out a sly grin as he nudged Tom's hand with his elbow, "Are we gonna get killed like how Freddie did? 'Cause that'd be so awesome!"

"No, we're not gonna get killed. Nothing will happen after that! It's fine, it's just a game," Sarah coaxed them and smiled, turning to her brother who seemed reluctant to play. But he eventually agreed, following his cousins and sister facing the huge bathroom mirror.

Tom stood between Sarah and Matthew, swallowing hard when his sister shut the bathroom lights off. Speckle of dusts glittered and withered away as the darkness of the bathroom crept in slowly. He tried to calm his breathing, making sure that his sister's hand was somewhere close for him to hold. A fumbling noise was heard, a scratching sound then a match was lit. Tom shivered when he realised that the light only centred on the four of their silhouettes, he couldn't see anything behind nor around them. As he forced his voice out, they chanted her name together. 

 

Bloody Mary.

 

Bloody Mary.

 

Bloody Mary.

 

"...Come out, come out, Bloody Mary," Matthew added then giggled when Sarah punched him.

Snuffing the lit match out, she blurted with a sharp whisper, "You have to stay quiet! Let's do it again, properly this time."

 

Bloody Mary.

 

Bloody Mary.

 

Bloody Mary.

 

They repeated the same, laden rules again - but this time, Tom felt a brush of light draft and goosebumps crawling up his spine. The drowning air was unsettling, where did the wind come from? It was so flat, suspiciously still and eerie. And he never felt so scared in his own home.

Tugging on Sarah's shirt, he begged her to stop the game and get him out of the suffocating bathroom, but Sarah shushed him. Her hand gripped tightly on his wrist, telling him to stay where he stood as their searching eyes fixed at the mirror - waiting. Tom whimpered as he tried to count the dreadful seconds in the dark bathroom, his attention gripping onto the dripping water out from a closed tap as his eyelids begged him to snap close. But the fright finally crept on him. 

Tom caught the soft, yet croaked whispering of a woman from his back, " _...Let's play... Hide and seek..._ "

But he knew, the voice belonged to neither his sister nor Zoe. The tone was so light and pleased. And through his own reflection in the mirror, away from the unyielding stares of his sister and cousins, he could see the outline of a tall crooked figure standing behind them. 

He couldn't tear his eyes away from black entity, something held him in place. The figure wobbled, staggered, _spread_ even closer to them, but the others didn't seem to notice it. Tom whimpered, staring wide-eyed at the pair of rotting hands reaching out at him, "...S-Sarah..."

Then, the match was blown out from Sarah's grasp. The bathroom lights snapped into a bright flash, revealing a disfigured face; split mouth that hanged loosely and wide on broken jaw, hollowed pair of drooping red eyes, rotting flesh, long dishevelled white hair that sagged wet and the terrifying yell of, " _I FOUND YOU...!!"_

But Tom saw her first, and their screams deafened the whole room. Toiletries scattered as they tried to escape out of the bathroom, but the door was plastered shut. The doorknob refused their frantic need to be saved, the banging on the door unheard. Their call for help was unheeded in the darkness, terrified of the incessant sinister laughs that echoed through their ears until they were found by their parents. They scrambled out from the bathroom, crying as they hooked themselves on their parents.

"Good lord, what happened?!"

"W-We were just--" Zoe was wiping her tears when she paused and turned to Sarah. There were supposed to be four of them. 

"...Tommy?" Sarah breathed, her voice quivered as she thought she had her brother's hand in her grasp.

Diana quickly made her way into the dark bathroom, finding her son curling at the corner - sobbing, trembling and wounded. Tom was covered in his own blood, cuts and bruises on his arms and legs. Blood was dripping at the edges of the counter, the tap from the sink still dripping - but it was coloured red. And the mirror, the reflecting glass that the children had stared upon was caked in Tom's own blood.

Like he was dragged into the mirror.

The sight was gruesome, a traumatic event for a young boy. 

"Tommy...!" Diana called out, pulling her son into her arms. She hushed him, rubbing his back as she spotted the split on little Tom's upper lip that still bled, "Darling, it's mummy... I'm here, sweetheart."

"...Mum... Mummy... P-Please don't let her take me...! Don't let her--"

A screech stopped him.

The painful pitch deafened, quaking the whole manor. 

A sharp growl, a roar followed amongst the frightening screeches. Scratching on the wall panels and the tiles.

Then, a laugh.

The bathroom mirror cracked, shattering away on the bloodied tiles of the floor. It shocked the rest of the crowd and the frightened five year old screamed. Diana quickly brought her limping son close to her and got him out of the menacing bathroom. The blaring noise continued even after they brought the little boy away from the house, they hoped that the nightmare wouldn't come back and haunt the whole family. 

 

*

 

_Twenty-Five Years Later._

 

"Yes, they're moving to grandmama's manor in Oxford. They reasoned with me that it's more quieter there and all," Tom curved a sheepish smile, grating the cheese and toasting the buns with butter, "And so, mum asked us to help them clear the boxes out."

"Yeah? How in the world did they pack their furniture so fast?" Chris pondered, flipping their home-made patties as he rested his palm on the counter. The meat sizzled deliciously against the hot greasy pan, and the smell was incredibly appetizing. He hummed, "When are we going there?"

"Oh, i don't know. But it's better to get this over with," Tom sighed, rubbing his eyes in obvious exhaustion.

Chris glanced at him, catching the sight of Tom stiffling his yawn and the blinks of his eyes trying his best to stay awake. Resting the spatula on the counter, he scooted closer and wrapped his arms lightly around Tom's neck. He pressed kisses on the crook of his boyfriend's neck to his shoulder, hugging the adorable man warmly from behind. Chris whispered, "Don't force yourself, okay baby? You've been acting strange ever since you watched The Conjuring..."

Chuckling lightly, Tom gave a peck on Chris' arm. He shrugged before pointing the knife he was holding to the lonely patties, "Chris, i'm fine. I was just a little spooked. I didn't expect that to happen... Still."

"You should tell that to your students before you cry on them, else they wouldn't stop calling me," Chris winked, slapping his hand on Tom's arse before returning to tend the patties for their hamburgers. Tom's said students were a lovely group of young and elderly, profoundly dote and idolized on their handsome teacher and would worry about him if something was wrong. And Chris would take the blame, not that he mind.

"And don't say i didn't warn you, honey."

"I won't," Tom grinned, throwing a bun at Chris's head.

Eating their dinner in a comfortable and companiable silence, the two men were pleased with all the goodness that were blessed to them - despite the hurdles that they eventually encountered. They enjoyed the quietness of their fruitful lives in their shared condo; filled with colourful paints and empty canvases for Tom to work on, pictures in frames taken by none-other but the perfectionist Chris as it added colours in their days together. They had been together for years, yet their relationship was still hard to be accepted by Chris' parents. But they eventually would, they just didn't know when. 

Either way, Chris was a notable photojournalist. He was always present at the fields of many world events, successfully captured every crucial moments that depended whether one party was guilty or not. The views they needed to be writ in history. Tom, was a rising artist. Nearly all of his paintings cost more than a million, as he always grasped the beauty of perfection and life itself. And he had many renowned artists tailing and asking for his collaboration and partnership. He wanted to accept them, but their demands were too much. 

But it felt nice to be noticed.

After dinner, they called their managers they would have their breaks for a couple of deserved weeks - and delighted that their wishes were granted. With their tickets booked and ready, Tom began packing his and Chris' clothes and supplies for his art of pencils and papers while Chris pondered which of his cameras should he bring. When Tom asked, he replied that he was catching memories with his about to be in-laws. As the day came, Tom flocked with his darling when they boarded their plane as he was extremely shy with the crowding passengers.

Searching for their seats, Tom managed to glance at his reflection on the mirror in the stewards' corner. He looked quite old, despite his age of 30 - the light scruff he had on his jaw and his unruly curls. Tom sighed, following Chris toward their seats by the window as he rubbed his rough jaw.  

"I really need to shave," Tom whispered to the excited Chris, handing his bag to his boyfriend to be placed at the cabinet above them. Sitting by the window, he continued, "...I feel old with this beard."

Replacing his curious frown with a devilish smirk, Chris touched and raised Tom's chin. Loving the sudden blush that crept on his darling's cheeks, he whispered, "You look cute, unfortunately for you." 

Tom punched him playfully, chuckling alond his handsome lover as they waited for the cramming passangers to board. The plane crews ambled along, directing the people to their seats and helped them with their heavy bags. Simple rules were followed as they were told to buckle up their seatbelts. Bored at watching the passengers passing them by, and with the fact that Chris' attention was caught by the badly photographed pictures in a magazine, Tom turned his attention to the view outside their plane. Intently seeking for an inspiration for his next painting, he looked up at the dull sky - gathering clouds and the solemn atmosphere of the morning. 

Lowering his gaze downwards, the young artist suddenly laid his eyes on a woman standing crookedly beside the screeching wheels of another plane. 

She was standing sluggishly on one leg, her left side hanged as her back faced him. Her skin was coloured rotting blue, and there were faint marks of battered and unhealed tissues. Thin hair flailed along the breeze of the cold season, dressed in a dirty, ripped gown - and the men working outside didn't seem to notice her. She looked like she needed help. Tom continued to fix his eyes on the strange woman, gasping as she painfully spun her head toward him. 

This sudden fright that he felt was excruciatingly familiar, his unblinked eyes grasping at the tiny pauses the woman took before fully staring up at him. 

He couldn't see the colour of her haunting eyes. No irises, no pupils. Just white. Her mouth was hanging wide, her cheeks were split - drooping down to the ground. Tom remembered he had to breathe, goosebumps crawled on his skin and the tremoring beats of his own heart had silenced every sound. The woman's head tilted to one side, her jaw suspended along. The artist noticed the clear tug on the ends of her ripped cheeks... she was smiling. Grinning, perhaps.

Spoken words unheard, he couldn't read her waving mouth. Something kept him in his place, something prevented him from looking away. Something reminded him that there would always be a nightmare. He trembled in obvious fear, his eyes swelled with unshed tears. He wanted - needed - to call out to Chris, but the same light and pleasing voice stopped him as it croaked in his ear...

"Wanna play... Hide and seek?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon my poor writing, this chapter is not beta'd yet - i will ask my beta to correct this for us when she's free! :DD

_"I... will... count... one... to... ten..."_

 

The whisper continued.

 

It was like a spell - the hypnotic words uttered by her cold, croaking voice were suspending him like a wooden marionette. Sharp hooks on strings gripped tightly on him, through and through his body, spawning an intense and twisting fear that ate him from inside out. She paused at every tangled step she made, staggering, unseen by noneother but his very eyes as the fright he felt was excruciatingly dull. Her haunting trance subdued every noise, his sight and threatened the very grip of his human life. Tom could feel his daylight darkening when the past memory of her flashed through his mind, occupying his attention with nothing but all the pain he suffered and the blood he lost.

 

Her face... Her awfully deranged appearance and the smile tugged sinisterly. The gaping mouth that seemed to stretch even lower up close, and the torn pair of eyes. Her sharp nails that adorned the trembling, broken fingers. It was her.

 

The woman in the mirror.

 

_"One..."_

 

She uttered throatily. Her merciless voice petrified him on his seat. His gut screamed at him to look away, as Tom caught himself at the verge of his tears. Tear brimmed eyes reluctantly watched the woman's body hunched over, limping painfully toward him - the bones of her twisted body seemed to crack at the shallow steps she was making, halting every second while her neck suddenly crooked to the left. Tom remembered that his lungs needed air, this was not the time to lose consciousness. Close his eyes! Shut her away! But he was afraid if he did close his eyes, she would appear somewhere even nearer. His own voice trapped in his dry throat, broken breaths that escaped his tired lungs as the tears that stung and streaked down his pale cheeks.

 

And when she was very, very _near_... She threatened to laugh at his apparent fear.

 

_"...T--"_

 

"Tom?"

 

A familiar grasp of a gentle hand snapped him out from the woman's lifeless, hypnotic gaze. That deep, soothing voice - it belonged to Chris. When he slowly turned to face him, half of him wished that it was just Chris and not the woman in disguise. His terrified stare met his boyfriend's anxious gaze, the beautiful and composed pair of eyes frowned. But finally, it was just Chris. His Chris. Appalling terror remained on Tom's face, draining his colour as it stripped him out from his courage. This absence of bravery.

 

It was just like an inception, a connoted doorway for something...

 

Tom had forgotten every nightmare that haunted his childhood, after so many years now as an adult - she suddenly returned. He was nearly engulfed in his fear by unseen entities like her, as she easily robbed him from every aspect of imagination and reality. He begged for a peaceful life, but the fear seemed to attach itself on him however. And it had left a mark on his soul that it was 'theirs' to take, to eat. Having saved by noneother but Chris, the woman's very hold on him just a few seconds ago scared him much. Though he might exaggerrate that he would die from just looking at her, it was possible. Tom wondered what would happen if Chris hadn't called him out. Just from thinking alone, the inevitable came rolling in.

 

Cerulean pair of eyes seemed to question him, 'what's the matter?' Along with the gentle hand that cupped his cheek, so soft and warm stinging the coldness of his skin. His lips were dried and wan, his whole body went limp in sheer apprehension as he finally realised that Chris' hand was clutching tightly on his. An assuring thumb rubbed on his pouting knuckles, and the calloused palm that rested warmly on top of his long, trembling fingers.

 

"You okay? What is it?" Chris asked gingerly, peering out through the window and saw nothing strange that might have caught his attention. Tom hesitantly looked back to the spot where he last saw her, but the woman was nowhere to be found. Her presence was replaced with the working men; running, hauling and driving small carts.

 

She was gone, as if she wasn't there in the first place. As if it was just a part of his imagination.

 

He was hallucinating, maybe.

 

Tom hung his head down, pulled by Chris' hand to rest his aching head on his shoulder. Tom complied, he never liked the weigh of his fear taking control of him. No more. Chris listened to the slowing breaths of his darling, trying his best to shake the scare out of him as he kissed on Tom's temple.

 

Chris asked quietly, there was a tinge of worry in his tone, "Baby, what's wrong?"

 

"I-I--" he stammered, hiding his crying eyes beneath his palm when the pilot's notice rang through the receiver. Finally, it was time to go.

 

Chris looked back at him curiously, he'd never seen the young artist looking so frail and afraid like this before and he realised that Tom was in no condition to continue whatever he was trying to say.

 

The attendants directed the passengers on the simple methods of buckling and unbuckling the seatbelts, showing where the lifejackets were and the safety precautions when leaving. They locked the cabinets, checking their giddy and unaware passengers if anything was wrong and needed before clasping themselves down on their own seats. Too shaken to strap his own seatbelt, Chris turned to help him. A pull of one belt, into the loop, loosening its grip around Tom's thin waist - Chris' eyes never wavered.

 

Concerned blue stayed with the terror-stricken shades of green and gray. Tom's ragged breathing slowed, and the panic was nearly gone.

 

Linking their hands together again, Chris brought them close to his lips. Kissing Tom's knuckles, his warm breath brushed against the cold, ashen skin, "I'm right here, Tom. It's okay, everything will be fine."

 

Though he didn't know what had happened, Chris doubted Tom would tell him. And his desire to know, grew by the counting seconds. The shaken artist nodded his head sorely, finding it hard to search for his words and to speak them out. He wearily blinked at Chris' other hand that was reaching for the window screen and rolled them down - ensuring to block Tom's view of the outside as the plane started moving and speeding. Chris convinced that whatever Tom had seen or heard moments ago was just his brain trying to play tricks on him, just forget them. He was an artist after all, having bad imaginations supposed to be normal. Right?

 

It was easy to understand that his handsome darling was worried about him, and Tom settled on the thought that Chris would always be there for him no matter the time. They had been together for so many years, went through countless hurdles and pain. He wouldn't let an entity breaking that cherished bond, he had to keep himself sane.

 

Tom breathed in and out, feeling his darling's large hand graciously rubbing on his back before resting his head on Chris' broad shoulder once more. But Chris never knew about his childhood nightmare, he never tried nor bothered to tell him. No more worries, he thought. Yet, he still couldn't believe after so many years, the woman in the mirror had finally come to show.

 

She was _out._

 

Out from the mirror.

 

That was what scared him.

 

*

 

Throughout their flight, Tom kept his hold on Chris' hand - needing his warmth, his comfort and the assuring presence. The trembles withered away, his heartbeats and breathing returned to normal. He regained his colours a bit and curved a few smiles here and there, but the thought of the terrifying woman lingered in his mind. Chris stole a glance at his boyfriend, one thing he knew about Tom being scared was that he would panic, it would take him an hour or so to calm the artist down. He asked Tom to tell his parents about his newfound worry of panic attack, but he said to just leave it be. Chris didn't understand the cause that made his darling so afraid, and he would prefer that Tom would tell him by himself when ready.

 

However loyal they both were, there was still that gap of secrets present between them.

 

And Chris often felt that it was tearing them apart.

 

Tom intently watched their linked hands; this fitting twin of his soul, the love of his life had lessen the pain inch by inch until it faded away. They ignored the strange glances their neighbouring passengers gave them, how they would grimace at their public intimacy - perhaps, they were jealous at the sheer loyalty Chris had for Tom. There were others like them in the plane, they weren't that brave enough to be proud. Think positive. Chris' large and firm hand, the aftermath of many field exercises of escaping and fighting for his life to avoid getting caught as a prisoner of war, suited perfectly into Tom's thin hand.

 

Their silence was more assuring than talking.

 

Chris' protective hold of his hand was much more comforting. With just Chris, he was sure that he wouldn't feel scared.

 

Arriving to Heathrow, the passengers flocked themselves together with their families and friends. Keeping close to each other, as what Tom was doing with Chris; linking their arms, amongst the tall as they patiently waited for their queue. They crammed and waited in line, taking their luggages and rented a car at a nearby shop to speed up the journey. They were already late, so-to-speak, for the grand 'unpacking-mother's-furniture-and-redecorating' day.

 

"Wanna go somewhere nice after we're done?" Chris hooted, trying to ease off the understanding silence for once. Pulling out his favourite beanie from his pack, he slipped them on and tucked his brownish locks inside. Chris explained when he spotted Tom's arched eyebrows in question as he placed their bags and suitcases in the empty boot, "I mean, we've been working non-stop for months now... I figured we should go have some fun together. Somewhere nice. Exotic, maybe."

 

Noticing the mischievous glint in Chris' mesmerizing eyes, Tom shook his head and curved a smile, "Where do you want to go?"

 

"Hawaii? It's a nice place, very sunny. Believe me, i'm dying to take a picture of us over there. My camera can't stop nudging at me to catch your beauty under the sun," he hummed as he teased, closing the lid of the boot and ambled his way to the driver's side of the vehicle.

 

Tom chuckled lightly, unzipping his jacket, "I'm not letting a pervert like you do me in public."

 

"Hmm, i just appreciate utter perfection, darling," mimicking Tom's English accent as he cocked an eyebrow and grinned, "But it turns you on being in trouble, right?"

 

"Don't act like you're not, Hemsworth," Tom countered, slipping into the front passenger seat while Chris on the driver's. Tom preferred that he'd drive all the way to his grandmother's old house, but Chris insisted that he should have his rest.

 

Inserting the key, he casually started the engine. Listening to the machine rumbled, Chris turned his attention to Tom who was peeling out from his leather jacket on his seat. The beautiful hands that brushed the wrinkles on the sleeves of his white plaid shirt, the colour that contrasted to Chris' own darkish clothing.

 

Ah, they were a match made in heaven, he thought.

 

Chris pulled out from his drooling thoughts when he heard Tom clearing his throat. Crap, he must have looked ridiculous. But he was welcomed with the pink blushes that crept on Tom's cheeks when he was being stared at by Chris. The colours returned, at least but the gap between them still vast. And Tom even chuckled. Determined to keep that blush plastered on the skin of his adorable artist, Chris leaned in and kissed Tom's lips. It was a close-mouthed kiss, short and enough to reel Tom in a daze. Yet again, it was an assurance. A silent promise of loyalty and protection. Although, deep in Chris' mind, he was hoping that Tom would forget the fear he felt before their departure.

 

Cupping Tom's cheek in his hand, he brushed the cheekbone lovingly as he looked into the artist's eyes. As honest as he was, Chris whispered, "You're right here with me, aren't you?"

 

"I am..."

 

An eyebrow arched again, Tom was caught in wonder why Chris would ask that question all of a sudden.

 

He knocked their foreheads together, and closed his eyes. Chris wouldn't get to understand his darling completely, but with just assurances of companionship and the love they bore for each other were enough. He admitted, "...Sometimes i feel like i'm losing you. You're doing fine, right?"

 

Tom nodded.

 

He hesitated. Chris noticed. But he replied with a smile, acting like he didn't grasp anything. Tom held in a secret, and it was mocking Chris' faith.

 

But he couldn't pressure Tom, he just didn't want to scare him.

 

More than an hour had passed, with moderate traffic and speed, they reached the border between Abingdon and Oxford. The shire was one of the beautiful place to visit in England, passing in and out of named towns and drove their way to one of the secluded countryside in Oxford. They had bought enough fuels to sate their journey, enjoying their trip on the road and Tom felt he was finally home. The shades of green, dull blue and the darkish colours in between were like those he remembered - he wished it was nothing menacing anymore. He recalled back what his mother had told him days before, the manor was renovated and nothing had happened to the workers. He thought it would be safe to stay there finally, and perhaps that was the reason why she was out.

 

Nothing bad would happen, right? She was just an imagination.

 

The couple talked about going for a few drives after they finished helping out at the manor, just him and Chris spending their time together rather than flying to Hawaii - snapping a few pictures and draw some papers maybe. It was a nice plan, something to look forward and avert his attention to.

 

The manor sat quite a distance away from the nearby town; near a lake that Tom remembered his grandfather purely loved, surrounded with twining trees and the dried leaves that adorned the route. It was a part of the family's compound, and so, his father bought a boat just to waste time paddling back and forth. Enjoy the scenery, he said. Through the benign gates ornated with crawling vines, Chris honked on the driveway of the grand manor when they spotted Sarah and Emma chatting on the bench outside, waiting for them. Emma, dressed in pale pink skirt and loose white t-shirt, hopped from the bench and excitedly waved her arms at them.

 

"It's Emma!" Tom cheered.

 

As Chris parked and turned off the engine, he amusingly watched his boyfriend bouncing out from the car, and jogged to hug his sisters. They hadn't seen each other for months, it was an understandable reaction to note on their glee.

 

"Tommy! You're here!" Emma squealed, wrapping her arms around her brother's neck, bringing him down to her height. She laughed at Tom's grunt when he returned her hug, and the handsome goatee he kept. Somehow, it made his brother looked more lovable. "I miss you! I miss you! I miss you!"

 

Tom laughed sheepishly, wincing at the tight embrace his little sister was giving him, "Emma, you're choking me!"

 

Peeking from her brother's shoulder, she spotted Chris getting out from the car with a huff and waved a hand at him, "Hi, Chris! Thanks for bringing Tommy back to us!"

 

Chris' lips loosen into a genuine smile, he wanted to counter back at her to start their usual friendly bickering but decided not to, and replied with a wave of his hand. Straightening his black t-shirt as he retreated to the boot to grab his and Tom's luggages, he listened to Tom's excited squeals of Sarah's newborn baby whom she was cradling in her arms. A baby girl named, Allie. More nieces, no nephews yet.

 

Sarah, in a beautiful white dress, let Tom carry Allie gently in his hold before giving him a kiss on his cheek. She chuckled at her brother's goatee, thumbing his chin and watched him answering her tease with a pout. She watched him getting dragged into the house by their little sister, shaking her head at Emma's obvious antics before turning to her brother's boyfriend, and walked to him.

 

"You're looking dapper, Christopher. I assume you haven't told my brother about that 'ring' yet," she greeted along with a sly smirk, folding her arms in front of her after kissing the man's cheek.

 

Hauling the bag where he kept his cameras and equipments out, Chris tugged an amused smile, "Please, just Chris. And no, i still haven't manned my mind up yet to ask him. It takes time and courage, Sarah."

 

She offered her help by taking the lightest pack which she presumed was her brother's drawing blocks and stationaries, and watched Chris slinging his bag on a shoulder and luggages on both hands. Sarah was a perfect sister figure to Chris, able to confide to her as she was always the first one to know before his doting brothers, Luke and Liam, that he'd planned to propose to Tom. But he couldn't find the perfect time to ask him, maybe when they would have their drives on the road. Or during dinner, maybe?

 

Chris couldn't trust Emma with his secrets, not even Sarah's husband as they tend to slip them out to Tom's parents and even to the said man himself. It wouldn't be too much of a surprise if that did happen. More likely, it would be embarrassing.

 

"Well, i suggest you to ask him quickly. There are many men out there asking for his hand, if you pardon the expression," she said, admitting that there were indeed men who were interested in Tom, and one of them, as Sarah noted was Chris' friend.

 

Walking by her side toward the front door, Chris heaved out a tired sigh when a thought of having a rival invaded his mind, "I'm aware of that, thanks."

 

"And Chris?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

Somehow it was her turn to hesitate as she halted at the steps, she felt the need to warn the young photographer somehow - he couldn't have possibly known of the incident that happened. Sarah waited until Chris fully turned to face her and said, "...This manor. There are many stories that happened in this house. I hope you'll always be there for him."

 

Humming as he faked a thoughtful gesture, and teased, "You do realise whatever you mean has a double meaning, right?"

 

"Not that!" she laughed, slapping his forearm.

 

Regaining his composure, he let his thoughts flow. But he knew what Sarah was trying to say to him, as if the whole family was aware of Tom's panic attacks and he understood that they were just worried about him for not coming home for months. Tugging on the strap of his pack, he bit his lower lip, "Something like security, you mean?"

 

"Yes."

 

"And my company whenever he's alone?"

 

"That, too."

 

Chris nodded his head, the slight beam on his face wiped away Sarah's worry over her brother, "I already promised him that before, and for you, i'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep your brother safe. I thought you trusted me with that already."

 

Sarah smirked, opening the door, "Sometimes it's hard to trust you since you tend to wander off to nowhere."

 

Chris brought the luggages inside when Sarah swung the door wide for him; the smell of new wooden floorboards, the gracious wall panels and the splendid extravagance of golden lights and chandeliers welcomed him. Striking antiqueness of the stairs' balusters, the newels and the curved steps up the floors above. The atmosphere of the manor had a distinct air of Edwardian era, it felt like he was going to stay for a couple of weeks at a historical museum. Family pictures nailed to the wall, lined according to the time taken and Chris spotted Tom's picture in the middle of the nostalgic collection.

 

Tom looked so young, like when they met for the first time.

 

Setting the suitcases and packs beside the stairs, Chris was warmly greeted by both Diana and James. They enquired about his good health, thanking him for bringing Tom home safely, and praising his great photographic skills and articles in the magazines and newspapers. The both of them were good parents, understanding and loving, and frankly he wished his own parents were more like them. Chris shook hands with Sarah's husband, Vin, as he was more of a close friend after being bonded for years and Emma's boyfriend, Robin who stood an inch taller than Chris and was a great fan over his and Tom's works.

 

He walked into the sitting room where all of the family gathered, James patted on the seat beside him for Chris to take and the young man gladly complied. They told him to have his rest first before helping out. He was, however, greeted with the lovely sight of Tom still cradling Allie in his arms. Hushing and chuckling at her sneezes, wiping her drools with her baby towel and the brightened smile Tom had when the baby squealed at him. Sarah's young girls, eight year old Lily and seven year old Uta, played their dollies with Emma. Robin cooed that Allie was more nicer with Tom than him, and stuck out his tongue in jealousy.

 

Allie's small hands reached out to brush Tom's goatee, and giggled. Chris laughed, finding it amusing that even a baby saw him adorable. Lily and Uta then asked him if they could braid his locks, and it was Tom's turn to laugh when Chris let them. Robin couldn't hold back his laughter, chipping in that Chris looked like a huge and muscled barbie. But the young man then got his turn when the girls demanded him to wear the dresses they made, and the whole sitting room was filled with heartful laughter.

 

Sighing after his minutes of laughing, still unable to avoid the hunched appearance of Robin wrapped in a girl's ballerina dress, Chris' eyes shifted to Tom who was sitting between the proud Vin and the beautiful Sarah - with Allie resting comfortably on his slow, rocking thighs. His feet propped on the edge of his seat, hands rested on the sides of his thighs to avoid Allie from falling.

 

Vin's thumb brushed his daughter's smooth forehead, there was a smile forming on his lips as he said, "Never in my life have i ever been so happy looking at a baby so small... You should have seen my reaction when the girls were asleep, Tom."

 

"It's priceless, he cried like a baby and i have to get him out of the room," Sarah chipped in, winking at her overly-emotional husband.

 

Chuckling at his sister and brother-in-law's tease, Tom took in the delight of watching baby Allie lulled to sleep. Her bright eyes fluttered tiredly, her small hand clutching on Tom's forefinger. This tiny, little girl that captured his heart so easily.

 

Sarah gently brushed Allie's head with her motherly hand, and whispered, "Her birthdate is the same like yours."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yup, i didn't get to tell you before. But now, you know."

 

Apart from hearing Emma trying her best to convince Robin to wear a catwoman's costume, Diana and James' conversation and the girls' caretaker, the old Louise telling both Lily and Uta to pack up their dollies, Chris' attention was fixed only to Tom. He noted that half of Tom wanted a child of his own, start a family. But there was also half of him, that prevented him from achieving his lifetime wish. However, the composed air was a nice setting for this warm family, and Chris couldn't believe that the one who brought happiness to the family was the one who needed utmost security.

 

And Chris had a feeling that he would get to know why very soon.

 

After a few hours of rest; enjoying the friendly bickers between Emma and Chris, Vin's plea at his girls to stop asking him to polish his nails, Robin's struggle with the ballerina dress after Sarah daring him to remain suited for an hour, the family finally begun redecorating the house. His parents had spent quite a lot on renovating the classy house : fixing the pipes, the broken tiles, the battered walls, electricity and creating rooms on the first and second floors. They unpacked the boxes that were still stacked at the room beside the stairs, bringing up the furniture to their respective floors, tidying up the mess and re-living the air of the siblings' good childhood memories.

 

Tom was bringing his and Chris' luggages up to their room on the first-floor, where his mother told him that it was big enough for two grown men - she even added that Chris would sleep on the sofa instead of them sharing a bed. He noticed his mother's warning pitch, and shied away when he realised she couldn't take no for an answer. Going up and down the stairs to bring the lighter packs, he stopped on the foot to the second-floor stair when he heard a low giggle.

 

It sounded more like a child's. But he was sure that the girls were downstairs with their baby sister.

 

Turning his head up to the suspicious left, where the curve of the second-floor's steps had darkened a bit. Cautiously making his way upstairs, the giggles continued as he finally laid his eyes on the place where the bathroom used to be. Now just a small closet, no more bloodied tiles, no more mirror. And his father had warned him to not try and open the door, just to avoid any unwanted episodes. Just from looking, Tom knew the door was locked, just to be sure was what his father would say if Tom asked. He remembered the tragedy that happened to him so many years ago, the painful wounds and his screams - he couldn't even recall where he got his injuries anymore, and he assumed it was the woman's doing. Still keeping his eyes at the wooden door, the returning sight of the woman near the wheels of the plane flashed in his mind.

 

As if she was currently looking straight at him.

 

He felt goosebumps tingling up his arms, and was thankful at Diana's call that brought him back from his haunting memories as he quickly went down to her.

 

Passing the sitting room where the girls were drawing pictures of animals and Louise with Allie in her arms; Vin and Robin fixing the curtains in the living room, his sisters in the kitchen preparing dinner and Chris helping out his father with the stuff for the backyard. Tom smiled at Chris' sheepish awakward attitude whenever James needed his help as his boyfriend placed the barbecue stand at the lavish patio, and the garden swing for the girls. They were recreating the old-style fashion back when his grandparents were still alive, and it looked even more animate when the dim lights outside gleamed through the lovely sunset. Tom found his mother in the laundry room, occupying herself with ironing his father's clothes while waiting for the dryer to finish spinning.

 

Diana sighed, glancing at her son leaning on the door frame, "Darling, please tell me you're going to be all right staying here. Your father couldn't stop worrying about you..."

 

"I'll be fine, mum," Tom smiled as he brought the semi-full hamper by the door to the washing machine, sorting out the colours. "So far, i didn't feel scared coming back here. I think i'm not afraid anymore."

 

He realised he was lying.

 

He didn't want to worry his poor mother.

 

Not anymore.

 

That moment in the plane, was something that Tom would call his returning fear. His and Chris' shared secret, the panic attack that he reaped after watching a horror story, he kept himself reminded that there wouldn't be any medicine for him; no anti-depressant pills to avoid such attacks as his whole family didn't know anything about it. But his parents knew about his fear, while Chris didn't. All Tom cared about, was keeping the bitter secret of his traumatised past away from Chris.

 

Diana gave him a soft, sad smile. The iron safely rested on its butt, as she walked toward her son to stroke his cheek with her hand. She looked up at him, proud that he was doing fine but as soon as she saw the scar on Tom's upper lip, her tears threatened to fall.

 

There were so much blood, and she nearly lost her son. Before the renovation even began, the second-floor bathroom was barred and locked hours after the deafening screech finally stopped. For years it was left abandoned, unheeded, unentered - untouched. The blood pools in the bathroom dried through the years, the musty smell of dusts and desertion, raw and decomposed carcasses of small cats and rodents flared up their nostrils, and the pieces of glasses that aged yellow, sharp and unreflected had lost its shine.

 

The sight was even more terrible when they saw scratch marks on the ceramic tiles, where the countless dents where forced through with bare fingernails. As far as they knew, the marks weren't there the last time they revisited the bathroom. Along with the dragging trails of blood that seemed to burst out from the mirror itself.

 

"Okay," Diana simply said and nodded, hanging the suit she was ironing on a metal bar in the closet, turning off the switch before she walked out the laundry room to help her girls with their meals for dinner.

 

Tom frowned, there was something she wasn't telling him.

 

Come a quarter to ten at night, the warm family was taken over by exhaustion and satisfaction that their work was almost done. With the exception of Chris and Tom, who were incredibly tired with the fact that they were still suffering from the jet-lag of their flight. Finishing their late night meal and dessert, they all bid goodnight and retreated to their rooms. Chris was told to share a room with Tom, to which he respected without any sorts of objections, as Diana handed her son a spare pillow and a blanket before he went upstairs where his darling boyfriend was waiting for him.

 

The second-floor's rooms were transformed into a huge library for the manor, and for the family's collections of literature pieces and paintings. With just the exception of the small closet, formerly the haunted bathroom, stood between the tranquility of knowledge and common sense. Where Tom's fear heightened from bitter confusion of what he saw earlier on was either real or a hallucination.

 

The room beside the stairs of the first-floor belonged to Sarah, baby Allie and Vin, the next was occupied by Lily and Uta - along with their caretaker, Louise. The room facing the master bedroom on the left was occupied by the snoring Robin, and the door adorned with a 'do-not-disturb' sign belonged to Emma. His and Chris' was the room opposite to the girls', just below the second-floor's closet. And Tom hoped it was just a coincidence, maybe he was thinking too much.

 

Shutting the door of his shared room with his tired lover, Tom shook his head at the sight of Chris who was fresh out from the shower, already sprawled on the single bed. His damp hair soaked onto the towel draped on the pillow; his rigid build of naked chest that rose and fell steadily, the black pajama pants that wrapped around his legs and the strong hands that took over the empty spaces of the seemingly small bed.

 

Tom rested the extra pillow and blanket on the sofa in the room, the seat looked surprisingly new to his eyes. Cracking one eye open, Chris shifted his attention to his wondering lover. He grunted as he pointed out that his feet had passed the length of the bed, "This is the reason why we have a double bed in our house. This crib doesn't fit for two grown men, you know?"

 

"And this is the reason why mum gave me these," Tom grinned, patting the pillow beside him before he walked over to the towel that was draped neatly on a chair.

 

"Oh no, i'm gonna sleep on this bed with you," Chris adamantly shook his head, stretching his arms and legs.

 

"Chris, mum will kill you if she finds out."

 

Propping a hand on the pillow, supporting his head as he curved a grin, "We're both men. It's just natural to share a bed."

 

"It's because you're a man that she thought you couldn't keep your 'boy' down," Tom countered, ruffling Chris' hair with the towel to dry.

 

Chris sat up on the bed, resting his hands on Tom's hips and blindly traced the hipbones with his fingers. He played with the band of the young artist's pants, dragging the annoying shirt upwards as he ghosted his lips on the delectable tummy. Chris feigned innocence by using his puppy-dog eyes and pouted, "Babe, at times like these, also knowing how loud you can get, you know i'll behave."

 

His breath hitched at the slow kisses Chris placed and trailed up from his belly button to his chest. The warmth of his lips and breath stopped his mind from thinking, drying his lover's hair and the towel forgotten, and Tom sighed in defeat, "All right."

 

"C'mere," Chris smiled, pulling Tom for a chaste and was delighted at the small moan that he'd earned from Tom.

 

Towels thrown to the floor, heads rested together on a shared pillow and blanket as the couple cuddled closer with Tom fitting himself into Chris' build. His head was below Chris' jaw, he loved the protective pair of arms that wrapped him close to a beating chest. Chris stole a kiss on Tom's forehead, patting his hand gently behind the artist's back and whispered, "Goodnight, baby."

 

*

 

2:09 AM

 

Tom woke up, tiredly blinking at the alarm that rested on the sidetable. His back was facing Chris who was hugging him around his waist, his constant breath brushed against the back of his neck - sleeping soundly. He didn't know what woke him up. Trying to drift back to sleep, nestling a bit closer to his lover and held the free hand in front of him, Tom heard a soft humming of a nursery song.

 

Slow.

 

Haunting.

 

It might be Sarah, hushing down little Allie to sleep. But the voice didn't sound like hers, nor Louise's. It sounded familiar... Menacing. 'Waiting'.

 

He rose from the bed, eyes fixed on the small creak of the door and slowly released Chris' hold on him and slipped away. Sarah's bedroom lights were off and so was the girls'.Yet the voice neither came from the two rooms, not even Emma's. Following the sound to the foot of the first-floor stairs, the growing voice until he could make up the uttered verses of the nursery song.

 

_Ring-a-ring-a-roses,_

_A pocket full of posies;_

_Ashes! Ashes!_

_We all fall down._

 

It came from upstairs, the second-floor closet. The door was open, the small gap showing the darkness inside. The strange wind that howled, brushing against his skin. So cold. And Tom remembered that his father had the closet locked. How did it open? The door creaked slowly, the gap widened, and Tom found himself standing helplessly in front of the said room. It was like there was an unwanted pull that led him there in the first place.

 

His breathing turned shallow at the sight of the same woman sitting and curled at an empty corner, her dirty sharp nails gnawed at her forehead, rotten palms hiding her bloody eyes - and the jaw that hanged loose. The position as if she was playing a game. Tom heard her mumbling, forcing sinister voice out from her slit throat, _"...I... am... counting... one... to... ten..."_

 

With just a split second, upon hearing the haunting voice - Tom's heart hammered painfully against his chest.

 

_"One..."_

 

Her head was turning to face him when Tom had snapped out from petrify and ready to run.

 

_"...Ten."_

 

There was a pull, and he landed sharply on his face. The pain on his forehead throbbed as he moaned, robbing him from making his escape when he gasped at the realization that there was a pair of sickening hands that had seized his feet. He heard bones cracking, something wet dripping onto his clothes, the hands shifted to wrap tightly around his ankles and the fear hovered itself above him. Tom found himself curled, hiding his face in his trembling hands as the broken entity stretched its body to whisper in his ear.

 

_"...I found you."_

 

Her tone was light... Pleasing. Evil.

 

She yanked him from his silent pleas, wrenching him into the obscurity and the damned of the closet. She laughed at his cries and screams, tugging his feet forcefully when he tried to resist, hooking himself at anything he could find. The ghost was playing with him, torturing him mentally. Tom struggled, his hands were starting to betray him, and his persistance stopped altogether at the ghostly hand that captured his fist.

 

She called his name.

 

Slow.

 

Slow.

 

Deadly slow.

 

"... _Thomas_ ," her voice croaked, sounding full with irritating mirth before another wave of her laughs followed Tom's cries for Chris' name. Only to find out that he was awaken by the said lover he had called for.

 

Chris was shaking him awake, his hands gripping on his arms and the obvious worry that etched itself on his face.

 

"Tom! Hey, wake up! Baby, wake up!" Chris' hand cupped his cheek, his presence and the warmth assured him that it was all just a dream. But why were they in the hallway? And to be specific, Tom was glued to the wall, opposite the haunted closet. His eyes unblinked, ragged breaths escaped his lips, he couldn't look away from the darkness of the room. Trembling, Diana rushed to his side - rubbing his back as James called the ambulance.

 

He was bleeding, the cut on his forehead was dull yet painful.

 

Vin ran down the stairs to the rooms down below, checking the house when they thought there was an intruder. But the shared glances between Diana, James and Sarah - made Chris entirely skeptical about an intrusion. No strangers. No one was there. Sarah ushered the kids to go back to sleep when they toddled up the stairs of the second-floor, Emma stood behind Robin - her brows furrowed at her brother. She had never seen him like this.

 

Taking the cloth that Diana handed to him, Chris tried to stop the bleeding on his lover's forehead. Aware that Tom's eyes were staring blindly at the empty closet, he blocked his stare as he remained crouched in front of him. Chris brushed away the beads of sweat that formed, noting the troubled breathing that Tom was starting to suffer and the grips on his forearms.

 

"...Shit," Chris cussed as he quickly brought Tom close to him. "Sarah, open the window!"

 

When she did, Chris cradled his lolling head, "Tom, Tom...! Look at me! Baby, baby... Look at me. Breathe, c'mon!"

 

Diana was still rubbing his back, and found that her son was slowly trying to breathe normally. It was like a panic attack.

 

"...S-She... She was right there..." he cried.

 

"What? Where?" Chris frowned, resting his hands at the sides of Tom's face, keeping hold of the cloth that was starting to soak with Tom's blood.

 

"...In t-there... S-She's still in there..."

 

Chris turned to the closet behind him, following at the direction where Tom was looking and pointing at. His broken breathing, his rasped and the sight only Tom could see. Then, the sound of a nasty growl echoed from the closet. And Vin carefully checked the room, he found that it was soulless. When he returned to Tom, his lover was starting to lose consciousness. Diana asked her husband if already called an ambulance, panic was rising in the family. And Chris remained with Tom. Just when Vin got out from the closet, and Chris lifting Tom in his arms, the door suddenly snapped shut.

 

Crackling noise of the lock silenced all of them.


End file.
